


Watch it Shatter

by cybergirl614



Category: Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: And then some..., BDSM, Badass Phasma, Bottom Kylo Ren, Dominant Phasma, Eventual Threesome, F/M, Femdom, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo goes by Lord Ren (idk it works somehow?), Lemon, POV Female Character, PWP, Submissive Kylo Ren, Threesome - F/F/M, and so does Phasma, f/m - Freeform, with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergirl614/pseuds/cybergirl614
Summary: Captain Phasma and Kylo have a certain kind of thing going, brutal sessions behind closed doors, forcefields filtering out the screams, with agony and ecstasy in equal measure. They both enjoy it, but what if it isn't enough?





	1. Before it Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Star Wars fic...and the first het I've written, come to think of it. Please don't roast me too bad?

She has never been soft, nor has he. Yet somehow, like the cold steel of their armor, they fit perfectly into place at times like this. She needs somewhere for her rage, just like he needs to be humiliated. Beaten. Forced into shape. She needs somewhere for her rage to go, pour it out and watch the molten metal solidify into a blistered shape, quench it in ice, and watch it shatter. And he needs some outlet for his own untold hauntings, the nature of which she has an idea, but isn’t fully privy to. At least, this is all what she tells herself. Maybe she just isn’t admitting it, because she can’t, not for pride, not for power or victory, but there is a certain fondness in what they do at these times. A certain…balance she sees when her body is on top of his, breathing in rhythm. A sense of calm as they recover from the aftershocks, lying like this, limbs tangled, sweat pouring from both their bodies. But right now none of this is in her head.

 

“Fuck me.” His voice is broken, hoarse, like she likes it. 

“Whatever makes you think I would give you such an honor?” 

“I can only ask, Master.” He falters mid-sentence, betraying all weakness, need. She smiles at hearing this, her lips a hard shape, nearly as sharp as the pangs that must rattle through his nerves as she bites at the back of his shoulders. Red-turning-blue marks are left behind. 

He shudders, the sound, the vibration of his utterances sending electricity down her spine. It’s like fuel into a furnace, her lust flares, furious heat tempered with a bite of cold steel that sits at her core. 

All she knows is need, and overpowering want. She will take what’s hers to have, and have the joy at forcing it from him as he struggles. Though she knows well he’s begging her for it, but that’s of no consequence. He will fight her, and she will relish every moment. 

She thinks she hears him whimper, just a little, as she rolls off the bed, reaching for her cock from the nearby drawer. It slots neatly into place, and she gives it a customary whack to test its positioning. She sucks in a deep breath as it hits all the right places within her, little bursts of light crackling at the edges of her vision. 

She slithers back onto the bed, straddling him as she notices he is fingering his own ass, something he knows well enough to do only while her back is turned, or suffer the consequences. She strikes his hands, garnering a startled cry, grasping his wrists harshly, squeezing the bones together so that he squirms in pain. She smirks at this. 

“You know better than this, boy.” She hisses as she slams his wrists into shackles, pressing them tight enough to cause pain. On her way back down, she digs her nails into the creamy flesh of his back, appreciating the red streaks and the way he trembles beneath her. 

 

She deftly pushes his knees under him, so that his ass is elevated. “You’ll take it like the dog you are,” she says, her voice dark but a little less harsh all the same. She even strokes a finger down his ribs, gently. 

“Please, Master, please, don’t—“ he begins to twist and try to get up off his knees, but he’s tied down too well. He manages to get up to his feet, but the shackles keep him bent over at the waist, which pleases her just the same. She catches him as he writhes, and spreads his ass, wetting his hole before wetting her cock. He continues to squirm, pulling against the chains that hold his arms so that they rattle and clank, but it’s no use. He’s her prey, which she will soon subdue. 

Despite his struggling, she lines herself up, and grabs him by the shoulders, sinking her teeth into the back of his neck, making him produce a delicious, bitter groan. And with that sweet sound still in her ears, she positions her cock to enter his ass. She does not bother with fingers; just pushes in, blunt force piercing through. And, is this not a thing of beauty, the raw cry he gives? 

Unmoved, she plows on, pushing and pulling with her body to establish a rhythm, which leaves him panting. He has forgotten to struggle now, weak little moans forced from him by her cock. It interfaces perfectly with her cunt, ridges lacing into her folds, bumps hitting her clit and the spots the nerves sit shallow to the surface, lighting fires within her with every pull and thrust. She shoves harder and harder into him, shifting so that she catches that spot on his prostate that makes him twitch, insensate with ecstasy. She may be his Master, but she is not without the occasional mercy. Apparently she is pushing him too hard in their reverie, as he crumples beneath her back to his knees. Though careful not to fall on him, she follows closely, continuing to fuck him, until his screams slow her. She gradually comes to a stop, having come five times over from the endeavor. She plucks out her cock from her entry, throwing it aside to inspect his well-reamed hole. 

“Hush, boy. Are you well?” She demands of him.

“Y-yes, Master. Th-thank you, Master.” 

“That is fortunate. You have some unfinished work.” 

She unlocks the shackles, turning him over onto his back. He regards her with a dizzy expression, still far too drunk on pain and pleasure. She lightly smacks his cheek with an open palm, then kisses him on the lips, slowly. 

“Come back to me, boy.” Her words are gruff, but she waits some long minutes, and he begins to emerge from his stupor. 

“Yes, Master,” he breathes, leaning up to kiss her in return. She laughs, and bridges the gap between herself and her partner, who flounders in her arms, still intoxicated with pleasure, though not so much he remains insensate as before. 

“If you are a good and dutiful boy, you will serve your Master as you know you are required,” she growls in his ear. 

“Yes, yes, Master, I know what I must do.” He says in a hushed, nearly awed tone. He scrambles off the head of the bed, allowing her to take her position. She sits reclining against the wall, arranging the cushions to her liking, and sits with her legs slightly spread, out straight. He kneels at her feet, which he caresses for a moment, massaging the tension from her muscles, then gently lifts them to spread her legs, which she allows wordlessly. He lies forward on his stomach, so that his head rests at her thighs. He teases the skin at the inside of her thighs with his teeth, sucking so luxuriously that she can’t help but groan a little. He moves to go higher, but her hand knotted in his long dark hair stops him with a yank. 

“Not so fast,” she says,. “Aren’t you forgetting something, my little bitch?”

“Yes, Master, I am your bitch. I must apologize, Master, for I should have asked, but, kind Master, may I have the privilege to suck you?” 

“Hmm,” she says, voice serious. “I suppose so…if you swear to be excellent at it.”

“Of course, Master.” His eyes glint, and she can feel his pulse race where his hand lies on her side, he is so excited to serve her. 

He dives in eagerly, his fingers quickly parting her folds, a finger flitting in, swiping a few times to open her up again, a thumb grazing her clit so that her vision grows fuzzy with little flecks of light. She groans again, this time too far gone to even try to hold back. Why, she would supplicate him if that was what it took to get him to do this, nevermind her pride or her usual demeanor. But what fortune, he will beg her for the chance to do this for her!

The first flicks of his tongue are furtive, glancing, making her push his head down onto her. 

“More, boy,” she insists. Though he cannot reply with words, he obliges quickly, sucking her clit into his mouth, worrying it with the tips of his teeth so that a beautiful pain shoots through and through her being. He intensifies his efforts, and she makes a series of small, broken noises. Whimpers, that she’d never dream of letting a man hear in any other context. Or any other man. He pushes on, ravishing her with teeth and tongue, until she spasms through the sound of her own cries. She’s almost sobbing, when he finally stops. 

She can’t stop shaking, she can’t even try. She can hardly compose a sensible thought, for it all just floats away, and he’s holding her, and god damn it all, although she’d normally hate it, right now she couldn’t convince herself she didn’t like it, even if her life depended upon it. 

 

*

Later, they are both at the dinner table, dark rings of bite marks well-hidden by his robes, no one is any the wiser but him and her as they eat the roast and trade remarks between themselves and the other officers about the most recent battle. Tis almost a shame, no one knows what heat rises between them in the dark. Meanwhile the crew converses over the richness of the flatbread and beef. 

Somewhere through the second course, Lord Ren stands, his dark eyes gleaming. “A toast, to the lady of the hour,” he says, a certain smug little look written all over his face, which makes Phasma’s palms itch to beat his sorry ass raw. “For Captain Phasma’s most recent excellent performance. Her impeccable talent in the heat of the moment makes such success nearly inevitable.” He tilts the glass of dark red towards her, as she grows pale and sits stiffly in her seat. She manages to respond accordingly as does the rest of the table with a small gesture of her own flute, but her insides are on fire with cold rage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furious following Kylo's antics at dinner, Phasma doesn't take kindly to his cheek. Nor does she want to hear what else he has to say.

As they all file out of the meal hall, Phasma walks up quickly behind Kylo, her powerful stride making it easy to catch up. She pinches the back of his neck as she comes up behind him, hard, and isn’t letting go. And right now, she couldn’t give less of a fuck who sees. 

“My quarters. Immediately. My Lord.” She hisses, words cold as ice, voice taut and dry. She’s furious beyond measure, adding the last words fro decorum’s sake, though it was much a threat as anything she’d said in weeks. 

 

“Of course, Captain.” He says smoothly, making her want to punch him in the jaw for his foolish display earlier, and his present impudence. 

 

“What in the bloody fuck were you thinking?!” She screams, the wall forcefields bouncing back little shriek echos of it. No one can hear them, and she’s glad for this. 

 

“I-I don’t know.” His voice is small, and though he hates this, he can’t say anything else at the moment. 

“You don’t know?!” 

“I—I truly don’t, my lady.”

“M’lady? Milady? What the fuck is this? A fairytale, you insolent prick? How dare you flaunt this?”

She gives his shoulder a hard shove, and he follows the movement, crumpling to sit on the edge of her bed, lanky limbs tangled and rigid with discontent. 

“Well?!” Her voice gets raspy from being loud, which isn’t usually her way. She drops her voice to a hoarse whisper, sitting beside him, her hand firm on his shoulder, the same one she shoved. 

“Have you no answer?” 

He shakes his head, staring at the floor as he moves slightly closer, slowly enough she doesn’t notice between her anger and confusion. 

“You’ll be our ruin—“ She says, but the words die in her throat as he speaks concurrently.

“I don’t know. Maybe... I love you.”

He looks up finally, and she sees unshed tears in his eyes. He leans in bridging the infintessimal gap between them, and kisses her gently. She gasps, recoiling to push him away. 

It’s her turn to shake her head, grimacing in such confusion as if the gesture had shaken her very world. 

“What are you saying? What do you think this is?” she demands.

He looks at the floor, tears glittering as they streak down his face. 

He shakes his head silently again. 

“Oh, for the love of fuck!” she sighs, staring off at the bolted door for a moment, trying to collect herself. 

“I am not that woman, Kylo. You know that! This…us….our thing, is whatever the fuck we want it to be, except that. Never that. I thought you fucking understood!” 

“I do understand. I—really.” 

“No, no no. I am not that woman! I’m hardly a woman at all. I don’t know what the fuck you’d call me, but I am never going to be the woman you want! I will never continue your line, build your empire—I am never having children so long as I live. And I will be beholden to no man, Lord Ren. No man will lord over me in the bonds of matrimony.” 

“Captain, please don’t call me Lord.”

“Fine. What do you want, Kylo?”

“Call me boy. I—I am merely a boy to you.”

“This is not the time for that.” Her tone is angry, and she turns away from him.

“Captain… Phasma. I…I don’t want any of what you fear. I don’t want children—why the fuck would I want children? To fuck over as my parents did me? No. I don’t want an obedient wife, Captain. I…only want you, as you are, today and forever.” 

“As I am?” she says slowly as she turns back towards him. Her eyes are shining too now, her face is hot, and her hands are cold. 

“Yes, my Captain. Phasma, my Master.” His cold thumb touches her cheek, pulling her gently towards him again. 

“I don’t think you understand,” she says as she begins to shake, bodily. Cold sweat dots the back of her shoulders beneath her robes. 

“Correct me, if I am wrong, but I believe I understand more than you think. I hate this world’s ways as much as you. Here we are at its top, but neither of us fit. We are miserable here.” 

“You don’t understand, because I am most certainly not miserable. I have fought, clawed my way here, at the top of this heap as you say, and I am proud of where I am.”

“But you are miserable in other ways, are you not, Captain?” 

She shivers quietly, whispering. “Yes, my Lord.” 

“It needn’t be so.” He says, speaking softly as she has. Though she’s openly sobbing now, bitter little sounds, twining her arms around him. 

With hesitant movements, she kisses him, shy as a girl who’s never kissed before. Slow and gentle. Afterwards, her eyes scan his face nervously, though she knows he’s pleased. It’s her own mind she’s searching, really. What in the hell is this? Where did this come from?   
“It’s alright, Captain. It really is.” He hugs her tightly, kissing her again, this time deeper. 

She parts her lips, welcoming in his tongue, eventually giving in to the lust that rises in her belly, swiping back with her own for several luxurious seconds. Then she fists his hair, pulling his head back as far as it can go, watching his eyes blown wide before her, with both surprise and an echoing lust. 

“Phasma?” He asks.

“What is it, Ren?” 

“Is all well between us?”

She snorts at this. “Of course it is.”

“Well, that is good to know, Master.” He drops himself back onto his heels leaning further up on the bed, undoing his top button so that a tooth-ring bruise on his chest peeks out, quirking his brow in the infuriating way so customary of him.

“Oh, you naïve little boy. It’s more than alright,” she growls.

She doesn’t give him time to respond; she’s busy claiming his mouth. 

Next he’s undoing buttons and ripping off his robes. He prostrates himself naked in front of her, ass in her face, hair messily hanging in his eyes. She traces his cheek with her fingertips before turning away. He beams at this, and begins to furiously finger himself. 

When she turns back to him, her robes hang open, her cock at prominence between the draping clothing at her sides. 

“Fuck me, please, Master,” he whispers, and she smiles that usual wicked smile.

“What else did you think I was going to do?” She pushes in so hard he can’t speak, only groans escaping. She remedies this, too, pressing the flesh of her forearm into his mouth. He bites down, sharp pains screaming through her body. 

She smiles, and forges on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're up to their usual sort of antics, chains, collar and all, when Kylo has a flashback. The consequences it brings are nothing short of horrifying.

He kneels at her feet, and she crouches to kiss him. It isn’t a deep kiss, more a brush of their lips than anything. He wishes it was more, but it isn’t his place to say so. She draws back a few inches, hovering close to his face enough that he feels her breath on his lips, and he wants to drink it in. 

He looks up from where he has had his eyes nearly closed, so great is the trust and peace that seems to radiate from her in these times. She meets his gaze with a wicked look in her eyes, a small quirk in her forehead, one eye brow creased, eyes narrowed like she’s deciding whether to eat him alive or torture him for later. He nearly shivers, electricity dancing through his body as he wonders what designs she intends to enact. He feels her fingers close at the back of the metal ring encircling his neck, where she exerts enough force to compel him to stand with her. 

He’s in chains, powerless before her will. It hums between them, as real as the blood that rushes in their veins. 

He bows his head as she pulls his arms up with the chains they’re bound in, so that they’re over his head. He groans softly as blows rain down, hard and thuddy, as he likes. 

She pauses a moment, lifting his chin with her forefinger. He opens his eyes to gaze up into hers, a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Remember your words, Ren.” And then she’s back as Master. 

Blows, more blows, the pain is adding up of all the smaller blows into a larger force travelling through his body. His eyes are shut, or so he thinks, he can’t really tell now. It all blurs together as he’s so accustomed to at these times, his senses shift, and everything seems to glow from pain. It’s a good pain, with no bite and all flare. He will carry bruises for days, bruises he’s proud of. 

She slows, and he regrets it. Now there are words, harsh words. Her voice blends into that of evils past. The words, they awaken something within him he has long tried to hold back. Pain, of an entirely different sort, fear, floods him. But he’s transfixed, reliving memory. He has to do something, anything, to keep them back. They’re after him...they’re gaining on him. He’s nowhere to run now. Fire…fire…fire… 

 

“What the bloody fuck?!” she shrieks, standing hunched as she glares at her exposed palms, already rising with welts. 

He’s snapped from the terror of memory, with her cries and the smell of burnt flesh. He feels the telltale shimmer of having just used the force, and growing horror. 

“Phasma! Phasma!” he bellows, growling “Goddamn it! Ugh!” He wills the damn Force to break him free, which it does after several agonizing seconds. The shackles drop from his wrists as meat filleted from bone does, clanking slowly to the floor. He’s at her side before the sound finishes ringing in his ears, hovering beside her where she cringes in pain. He gathers her into his arms, pulling her towards the sink, where he immerses her hands and forearms in ice-cold water from the tap. She gasps, teeth gritted, her face knit in a grimace. 

 

She’s biting back the ragged breathing of sobs, and knowing nothing else to do, he cradles her in his arms, mumbling the best he can muster in the way of comforting words. It’s an odd thing for him to do, with so little experience, so scant a natural ability or inclination towards anything remotely nurturing, yet somehow it comes to him in the moment. 

And, he realizes, on some level, this is unusual for her as well. He’s seen her far more gravely wounded from battle, where she would have attacked anyone who harmed her, even among her closest allies. He’s seen her threaten Hux with a duel over a sleight so inconsequential, Kylo can no longer remember what it was. 

This is all just a fleeting glimpse of a thought in his mind as he waits for the water to take effect, at least, what little it may have. She’s still shaking, cringing so that her eyes are mostly shut. He kisses her softly on the forehead after some long moments. 

“Phasma, you should go to the med bay.” 

Suddenly her shaking stops, she goes rigid through and through. “No.” 

He can feel the tension passing through every muscle in her body, and realizes suddenly, she is not so different from him. Her walls are so much thicker than his, yet somehow, for him they have turned to glass. 

He growls under his breath. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Are you that stupid?! You won’t be able to hold your blaster for weeks! Let alone wear your armor. Don’t be stupid.” 

“I said no,” she states, voice edged in steel. “I will not prostrate myself before the staff which will gossip. I know their ways, they would still spawn rumors even upon pain of death. Insolent little cunts.” 

Kylo sighs, temper flaring. “Well do you have any other ideas that won’t cripple our fleet?!” he snaps. 

“Go back to your quarters, Ren.” She says, tiredness bleeding into her voice, though it still carries the familiar edge. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” 

He flat out laughs at her, a harsh, bitter sound, and her face grows so angry he’s mightily glad she isn’t capable of using the Force, because there’s a real possibility he wouldn’t currently be breathing. 

“Leave me immediately, Lord Ren!” she intones, so severe is her tone it almost frightens him, just a bit. But then, he’s never been one to cower from someone trying to be intimidating. He sets his jaw, stepping back from her a bit, since she seems so dead set on throwing him off anyway. 

 

“I refuse to leave you like this. You can’t even turn off the sink.” He says this as he watches her try to remove her hands from the flowing water, and fail, nearly screaming in pain the instant her skin left the cold refuge. 

“Stuff it, Ren,” she snaps angrily, wincing as she jars the painful areas again. 

“You know what Phasma? Fuck your pretense,” he says resolutely. “I’m going to get help.” 

He walks away from her, pauses to put on clothing, she presumes, and slips out the door. 

She finds herself crying once he’s gone, cursing herself and her stupidity. Somehow, she cannot blame him, since it isn’t his fault he lost control. She pushed him too far, went too hard, too fast. And crucially, she’d had too much metal on him. She’s always known the risks, of playing near the edge with someone who has the capacity to control Force within him, and has known there was potential for accidental injury, maiming, even a horrible death. Yet somehow she has not cared. At least, not until now. 

She watches the water flow over her hands and arms, desperation and misery growing. She cannot be seen like this. Such a thing would betray their relationship, betray her disgusting weakness, and end her career. Even if it weren’t for the severe consequences, the shame alone is enough that she’d rather die than face it. To lose all credibility for which she has so hard and long fought, her entire life…she cannot risk it. 

For several long, shaky breaths in and out, she prepares herself for what she’s about to do. It takes all her willpower to remove her arms from the water, which instantly rips bitter screams from her lungs. She falls back on the floor on her naked ass, where she shakes bodily for what feels like eternity, muscles spasming til she vomits. After she has coughed up all the bile that seems to exist within her, she manages to slowly roll to her feet, decades of training in the martial arts allowing her to do so without the use of her arms for stability. She takes a few unsteady steps, tremors running through her entire body as she struggles to stay upright. She knows what she’s going for, and focuses on that. She can’t think about the pain right now, even though it swirls around and inside her, threatening to engulf her mind with the force of a black hole sucking in all around it.


End file.
